


Price of Sympathy

by Darkrealmist



Category: Othercide (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Canon - Video Game, Character Study, Dark, Dreams vs. Reality, F/M, Film Noir, Friendship, Gen, Ghosts, Guilt, Horror, Imprisonment, Nightmares, Nuns, Pain, Past Character Death, Plague, Poetry, Priests, Rape, Religion, Resurrection, Violence, Wordcount: 100-1.000, Wordcount: 100-500, Wordcount: Under 10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:42:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25854538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkrealmist/pseuds/Darkrealmist
Summary: A poem based on The Maid.
Kudos: 1





	Price of Sympathy

Price of Sympathy

Author’s Note: Enjoy the poem and R&R.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to or of _Othercide_.

Summary: 

A poem based on The Maid.

* * *

Child  
Together orphans, she was your only friend  
I know the memories hurt  
But what the corrupt man of God did to her and her sweet heart  
Beaten, battered, raped  
You were in his prison. And while she promised someday you’d be free to go wherever you wished  
His control rusted you both, in body and in mind  
A beauty broken, where atrocity should not have passed its vessel for collection  
Vow of chastity nullified  
Vow of obedience grossly upheld  
Does her humming not tell you you must stop?  
“Will it never end…? Please let me die…”  
She wept those notes as she died in your arms, and now she weeps them once more  
She taught you kindness. She showed you, the unloved, her welcoming love  
And because it was forbidden, The Deacon introduced you to loss  
The Maid died for you. You made her sick. But the crook of judgment, it was never in your hands  
Her cracking spine. She’s reaping herself with that scythe  
You gave her life, to bring her back  
I killed her again  
The Suffering. He lies to you  
That face you remember, it is not this white ghost haunting a blood-soaked habit  
Nor is it the naked doll girdled by barbed wire  
The sister was the virgin in the portraits stacked at the altar-shrine  
Who sang you your dear lullaby  
From the music box  
“Do not fear,  
I will be here,  
Your pain is falling away”  
We will save you, Child


End file.
